


The Back Massage Hypothesis

by WakeUpDreaming



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: F/M, I don't know how to tag this, PWP, Sleepy Sex, back massage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-23
Updated: 2014-09-23
Packaged: 2018-02-18 11:26:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2346815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WakeUpDreaming/pseuds/WakeUpDreaming
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a magnificently stupid attempt at trying to prove who the best sword fighter is at camp, Percy Jackson throws his back through the ringer in a way even ambrosia can't help. Luckily, he has Annabeth. Except when she's being miserably stubborn and, wait, is she mocking him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Back Massage Hypothesis

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in under 45 minutes. Blame tumblr.

“Annabeth,” whines Percy, pouting as he walks into the door of the Athena cabin “Annabeth, it hurts.”

“That is what you get for going three two-hour sparring rounds with Jason,” she says loftily, examining blue prints for the newest building. “Next time just pull them out and measure. I’m sure in that case you won’t get electrocuted through your superpower.”

He glares. “You are mocking a wounded soldier,” he says seriously, “and how was I supposed to know that water would conduct magical lightning?”

She puts the blueprints down and looks at him, raising a single eyebrow. “Because you have a brain, you goofball,” she says, and the tone changes. She smiles. “Use it one of these days.”

“Can’t,” says Percy, flopping face down on her bed, “too tired. Too much pain.”

Annabeth groans. “You can’t just come in here whenever you feel like it, you know,” she says. “My siblings come in and out of here every three or four seconds.”

“So?” he says. “You’re just being mean to me. They always see that.”

Annabeth laughs and tosses her head back. “Oh, right,” she chuckles. “Sure. That’s what it is.”

Percy tries his best pout. “I need a back massage.” He tries to do that thing Piper says he’s a master at – seal eyes? Dolphin eyes? Whatever – when he rolls over. For extra effect, he runs his hand through his hair. “And you’re the best there is.”

“Go to the Apollo cabin,” Annabeth replies, “they’re the medicinal ones. I just build stuff.”

Percy frowns. “You are the worst.”

“Because I won’t give you a back massage?” she says, rolling her eyes. “Please.”

~~

He goes to sleep that night stiff, and knows he’s going to wake up unable to move his neck. For all he joked with Annabeth, he and Jason totally overdid it when they were sparring, and Percy hasn’t felt this sore since he was twelve.

It’s in his shoulders, his lower back, and his muscles are screaming at him for it. It’s moments like these when he wishes he were still invulnerable.

Whimpering a little, because Tyson’s gone and he’s alone in the cabin, he rolls to his stomach. He doesn’t care, he’ll be pathetic, as long as he can pretend it helps.

Waking up is going to be hell, and he knows it, and he dozes off thinking of ways to beg someone to synthesize ambrosia and nectar for soreness like this.

~~

Dreams could be worse, he analyzes, because he’s dreaming that he’s on a beach with Annabeth, waves crashing over his back, and she’s talking about blueprints and architecture with that gorgeous look in her eyes. He loves it, when they’re like this. No prophecies, nobody trying to kill them. She laughs at something he does, and he says her name quietly.

And then, suddenly, he hears her laughing, and it’s too real, too present.

His eyes fly open and he chokes back a gasp when Annabeth’s lips brush over his ear.

“Took you long enough,” she murmurs, thumbs pressing into the muscles of his lower back. “Thought you were gonna spend the whole night saying my name in your sleep.”

She hits a particularly stubborn knot, and Percy can’t hold back the groan of pleasure.

“Shh,” she laughs in a whisper, “they can’t know I’m here.”

Percy makes a muffled noise of agreement, then collapses back to the pillows, arching into her warm, skilled hands as they travel expertly up his back and across his shoulders.

He holds still for her, because it’s still so sore, but the way she’s touching him is getting slower, and he can feel her lips brush against his neck every so often. It’s Annabeth’s favorite kind of experiment. Essential question: How long will it take Percy during a massage to get so turned on he can’t handle it anymore? Hypothesis: Not damned long at all.

He bites the pillow as he moans into it, her fingers working deftly at his neck where he thought he’d wake up in agony. “Annabeth, fuck,” he says, “oh, right there.”

“If anyone heard that,” she says, and she shifts her body so she’s lying on top of his, “they would get the wrong idea, wouldn’t they?”

“We should give them the right one,” Percy laughs into the pillow, and then slowly, fuck, she does this part so slowly, every time, she circles the spot on his back that only she knows about, never quite touching the space.

“Come on,” he whines, “stop teasing.”

“I don’t know,” she says. “I think this may be my favorite part.”

Percy snorts. “Yeah right,” he replies, “because your favorite part isn’t when I’m – oh fuck please there yes.” He presses his face into the pillow as she grazes her fingers over the spot, barely touching it.

“I still don’t know why this is so sensitive,” Annabeth muses, like she doesn’t know what she’s doing to him. “It makes sense, I suppose, but,” she pauses, fingers splayed near the spot. “I’m not sure why it gets you like this.”

Percy’s only able to whine, high pitched and stupidly needy, and he feels himself get harder as Annabeth laughs.

“Though,” she says, grazing her fingertips up his sides, “I do like it when you get this way.”

Then suddenly it’s her tongue licking up from the base of his spine, and it’s like being electrocuted all over again as she bites and kisses her way up, pressing a firm kiss to the spot on his back.

Percy cries out and turns over underneath her.

“Get over here,” he growls, and he pulls her down for a kiss, and she laughs against him, not even pretending like she’s not grinding against him.

“Hmm,” she says, turning her head and looking at her watch. “Took you exactly six minutes and forty-eight seconds.”

“You timed it again?!” he exclaims. “You are so weird.”

Annabeth shrugs. “Yeah,” she says slowly, “but I’m the good kind of weird.”

“Yeah you are,” Percy replies, and he takes no time at all to run his hands up her shirt and, fuck – “You’re not wearing a bra?!”

“No sense, because you can never unclasp the damned thing,” she says and, goddamnit, why does this turn him on even more?

“You’re the worst.”

She wiggles her eyebrows. “I’m also not wearing underwear.”

“You are also the best.”

They make quick work of the rest of Annabeth’s clothes, and Percy has a feeling it’ll take a while to find his boxers, thrown somewhere up in the rafters.

She kisses him hard, biting at his lip as she reaches in Percy’s bedside table for a condom, grinning against him as she quickly slides it on him. She laughs when he bucks up into her hand, but hell, who could blame him? He’s got Annabeth in his lap and her hair falling on his shoulders, and he chokes out her name as she slides on top of him, moving agonizingly slowly.

“You’re mean,” he says, rocking up against her, one arm braced on the bed and the other around her back.

She laughs in response. “Only mostly,” she replies. “But there’s that part where I love you, too.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Percy says, unable to keep from grinning. “There’s that.”


End file.
